Eddie Howe was 44 years and 334 days old when he took his vow of silence.
It is October 29, 2022. Newcastle United have just beaten Aston Villa 4-0 at St James’ Park and are fourth in the Premier League. Then the question came. Can Newcastle reach the C*******s L****e?
“That’s an outrageous question,” Howe replied. “We’re just happy where we are.” And he did not speak those words.
December 16, 2022; ahead of the Premier League’s post-World Cup restart. Newcastle are third with 30 points. Would it be a disappointment not to reach the C*******s L****e?
“It’s difficult to answer,” he said. “You’re trying to predict the future.” And he did not speak those words.
Sure and steady the questions came. To Howe, they must have felt like a dripping tap in an empty room. After disappointment in the Carabao Cup final. Would the C*******s L****e make up for it? After a run of just one win in seven games. Is the C*******s L****e in danger? Six goals against Tottenham Hotspur.
C*******s L****e. C*******s L****e. C*******s L****e.
And still, Eddie Howe did not speak those words.
The undercurrents run deep. This is the undulating and eddied swell of a city starved of those European nights for 20 years; its flow, waiting to burst into the sea and whatever lies beyond.
May 22, 2023. Newcastle United 0-0 Leicester City. One point earned. Fifth-place Liverpool are four points behind with one to play. Newcastle are in the f*****g C*******s L****e.
GO DEEPER
Dear Eddie… Thank you, for all of it
Off the field he comes, blushing and exhilarated. It was the overcoat during the second half; that is now off, it is just a hoodie. Howe’s hands are animated, conducting the room, free from their modest media-facing fold. With a game to go, his side has moved onto 70 points — only one behind Sir Bobby Robson’s highest Newcastle tally.
An interruption. “You’re still not saying the word C*******s L****e?” someone chimes. Pause. The man responsible for putting Newcastle into this position takes his time. He wants to savour this next sentence.
“Maybe next season I will.”
Eddie, you can speak those words. Newcastle are in the Champions League.
Perhaps his response was in keeping.
Monday was a night when upstairs was downstairs and downstairs was upstairs; when double-speak was plain-talking and there was colour in black and white. Just look at Big Dan Burn — a giant man in a tiny beanie.
Burn – a giant in a tiny hat (Photo: Richard Sellers/Sportsphoto/Allstar via Getty Images)
A 0-0 home draw to the team languishing 19th in the league? That is not what this Newcastle expects. Yet it unleashed the most joyous celebration of the season.
Circling the pitch at full-time, footballers stopped being footballers; indistinguishable from their tiny children, rapture on their faces, knee-sliding the turf. The club’s owners — competing in a half-time challenge — masqueraded as footballers instead. Newcastle’s squad found other employment.
Callum Wilson was the club photographer, given an iPhone and asked by Howe’s wife Vicki to take a family photo. On this night, it was not the Gallowgate End faithful desperate to be photographed with the players, but the players with the Gallowgate. Howe, the lilied pond to Jason Tindall’s wave machine, was double fist-pumping, propelling the crowd. Tindall just smiled.
Burn was a childminder, corralling toddlers, chasing shadows in front of the Milburn Stand. Leicester City had done the same for the previous 90 minutes, but it does not matter that it is almost 20 minutes after the final whistle when 23-month-old Francesco Almiron, mini Miggy, scores the first goal for Newcastle. Then they rain in. Wilson’s daughter. Allan Saint-Maximin’s three children. The floodgates have opened.
Watching on, Kieran Trippier was in tears, or close to them. “It means everything,” he told Sky Sports. “I took a risk when I first arrived but I always believed in every decision I made.”
At full-time, he was part of the back four as they collectively embraced Nick Pope — a unit who have kept the second-best defensive record in the Premier League. Not many would have believed in that. Newcastle’s defence is a punchline no longer. Pope did not have a save to make until the 93rd minute, but when it came, he flew. The point was enough to send Newcastle into Europe.
Pope denies Timothy Castagne late on (Photo: Alex Livesey/Getty Images)
Thankful, Bruno Guimaraes walked on his knees towards them. The city wants to follow, but there would not be enough tailors in Newcastle to repair the patches on 52,000 pairs of worn-through jeans. Fingernails had already gone.
This was a dominant Newcastle performance: after 80 minutes, they had 83 per cent possession and 23 shots to Leicester’s none — but also strangely edgy, a side infused with so much adrenaline they tremored.
Sven Botman lobbed Trippier with a simple pass. Guimaraes overcommitted to a challenge on Boubakary Soumare and could — or even should — have been sent off. Elliot Anderson, making just his second Premier League start, leapt for a diving header before the cross had left his teammate’s foot. Midway through the second-half, Guimaraes headed the post, rather than the ball.
Suddenly Newcastle, the stingiest long-shot takers in the Premier League, were trying to ping it in from everywhere. Everyone wanted to be a hero. In the end, everyone was.
“You don’t want to see me dance,” Howe warned after Newcastle reached the Carabao Cup final.
That is entirely in keeping. No parties after work. He celebrated last month’s 6-1 win over Tottenham by rewatching the game with his dog, lying on the sofa with a biscuit and a cup of tea.
Howe and Amanda Staveley celebrate (Photo: Stu Forster/Getty Images)
It is deep in the stadium and late in the night, but the chant still seeps through reinforced concrete. “Tell me ma, me ma, I won’t be home for tea, I’m going to Italy.”
Tonight of all nights, Howe won’t be either.
“I hope it’s not with a tea and a biscuit,” he said of the prospective celebrations. “I hope it’s with something else — but I just don’t know at this moment.”
Off into the unknown — and so are Newcastle. Will it ever be clear what transpired in the city’s bars, pubs, and clubs on Monday night? Probably not. After all, Eddie Howe has taken a vow of silence.
(Top photo: Alex Livesey/Getty Images)